


symposium

by ceraunos



Series: sanctum [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, First Time, London, M/M, a big confusion about sex, it doesn't go the way you think it does, just so many greek references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceraunos/pseuds/ceraunos
Summary: “And Jonathan caused David to swear again, because he loved him: for he loved him as he loved his own soul."-In which a misunderstanding about sex leads to Thomas giving a lecture on Greek Principles, amongst other things.Set directly after their kiss in 2.05.





	symposium

**Author's Note:**

> the wonderful solraneth made a [moodboard](http://solraneth.tumblr.com/post/180339849738/moodboard-for-symposium-by-ceraunos-and-jonathan) for this fic! And a-pirateonce has made a [stunning edit](http://apirate-once.tumblr.com/post/180733602319/for-pleasure-is-an-affection-of-the-soul-and) also! (also if you read their tags it pretty much sums up my mental state while writing this...)

James is staring at a spot on the floor just left of his feet and for a moment Thomas wonders if he has made a huge, horrible mistake and his stomach drops and inch or two. He wonders, absurdly, if he is going to be sick. He is about to spare a sympathetic thought for the carpet when James’ eyes finally turn back up to his, wide, wary and unmistakeably wanting. Yet there’s a hardness sliding over him too as he squares his shoulders, alert like a stag caught at the end of a gun. When Thomas puts two fingers under James’ chin he flinches until there is air between their skin again.

“Ssh” Thomas murmurs, even though the room is silent except for the ticking of a clock and James’ uneven breaths. He stays perfectly still and after a moment James takes a small, certain step towards him. His fingers graze Thomas’ still outstretched hand as if asking permission and then he kisses him.

Thomas registers the whisper of fabric as Miranda stands and crosses the room. She presses her lips, warm, against Thomas’ forehead and curls her fingers tightly around James’ shoulder, interlacing them with Thomas’ own which have come to rest there. They stay like that as James’ tongue traces the tip of Thomas’. It flicks over Thomas’ teeth once, twice and then James bites, very softly into Thomas’ lower lip and Thomas sighs, pushing into James. The feeling of Miranda stepping away is accompanied by a mild guilt brushing against the back of Thomas’ mind but, with the click of the door, James turns them and backs him into the table and as wax spills from the candles Thomas mind goes temporarily blank. The only thing he is aware of is the heat of James’ mouth, the callouses of his fingertips as they press into his neck and the tickle of his hair, which has fallen from it’s tie onto Thomas’ cheek.

James keeps kissing and kissing because if he doesn’t break contact, if he doesn’t even stop for breath, then he won’t have to think about what comes next, how they possibly move forward from this. If Thomas’ mouth is still on his then they can’t be talking about what comes next and by all accounts that is a very good thing. He deepens the kiss impossibly further, taking everything Thomas is willing to give and still asking for more because the sound of the clock ticking is thundering in his ears.

James’ hands move from Thomas’ neck to slide under layers and layers of clothing and for a second Thomas feels cold without them until they’re skirting around his waist, pressing into his lower back and he groans softly and inadvertently into James’ mouth. Then there are fingers fiddling insistently with the buttons on his breeches and while the feel of James’ skin through silk is heavenly Thomas realises that this is a man working with military determination to achieve one, precise goal. He slides out from under James’ touch.

James looks utterly lost and more than a little angry at Thomas’ sudden departure. Thomas resists every nerve in his body wanting him to walk back across and keep kissing him. He recalls the first time he played chess against James, how unnervingly hard and fast James had played the game, taking Thomas’ king in a handful of moves, as if getting lost in intricate tactics would give too much away. Thomas has since cajoled him into letting the game linger a while, after all, he enjoys playing for the fun of it, not the win. Regardless, Thomas has come to realise that James’ approach to chess is one prevelant in just about everything he does and it is not something he wishes to see dominate whatever may have begun this evening.

“Thomas?” the sound of his name jolts Thomas out of his introspection and he realises belatedly that James has sunk into the nearest chair, knuckles white as he grips the back of it. Thomas thinks you could go swimming in the eyes that are resolutely meeting his, unblinking.

“I apologise. That was unforgivable.” James’ voice doesn’t break on the final word but it doesn’t not either. It only takes two strides to be in front of him again, Thomas’ fingers wrapping around his wrists, holding him still.

“Don’t.” He says, pressing his forehead to James’. “Follow me.”

 ~ 

Thomas’ library is bigger than James’ entire residence and has often been a source of more than a little envy for James. Thomas is already pulling book after book off the shelves as he enters while James hovers uncertainly in the doorway.

“Wait here!” Thomas calls, dropping a stack of texts into James’ unexpecting arms and bounding out of the room. James can here him run down the corridor and up and down a flight of stairs, doors slamming open and shut as he goes. Temporary bafflement at Thomas’ sudden euphoria is giving way to the earlier panic that has lodged deep in James’ breastbone right next to a tumorous welt of emotion he is refusing to acknowledge. His arms grow heavy under the weight of the books and for the first time he takes note of the authors.

Plato.  
Aeschylus.  
Plutarch.  
Virgil.  
Diogenes.  
Homer.

And more, classic texts in Greek and Latin alongside the odd modern critic. James’ knees give out. He drops to the floor, the books scattering around him. He might not be a learned man but he knows the content of those books. He knows exactly what argument Thomas is about to present even before he re-enters the room. He thinks his lungs might have stopped working, he can only blink at Thomas and swallow shallowly as his chest burns.

“Sorry, this one had slipped down the side of the bed.” Thomas places the Iliad on top of the pile and James wants to cry because it might as well be the gavel falling. “What happened? Why are you on the floor?”

James can’t think of a reasonable answer so he doesn’t say anything and Thomas continues to stare at him so he gets up off the floor.

“You’ve got -” Thomas blows gently at James’ shoulder and the feel of breath on his neck sends a rush of heat through James’ entire body. “Sorry, the books tend to get a little dusty.”

“I don’t understand.” James says, even though he is certain he understands too much. He is thankful Thomas at least realises he’s not talking about the dust.

‘“And Jonathan caused David to swear again, because he loved him: for he loved him as he loved his own soul.’” Thomas recites the bible like poetry. “Of course in the Greek they chose agape for the translation of love, as in the great commandment ‘you shall love the Lord’, but the original Hebrew only has one word for love so perhaps we may be permitted to speculate somewhat?”

James can only stare at Thomas. He isn’t entirely sure what’s going on but he thinks Thomas has just suggested that two prominent biblical figures are… are.

“Speculate?” He manages to choke out.

“‘Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.’ 2 Samuel 1:26, David laments Johnathan. ‘El amor que Jonatán dio a David’ the love Jonathan bore David was so intimate that it knitted his soul to David’s. A reflection by John of the Cross.”

Thomas is definitely suggesting what James thinks he is and he is having the strangest, most surreal sense of déjà vu because this seems so much like the opening to one of Thomas’ lectures and yet the topic would be so abhorrently blasphemous to consider even in Thomas’ most radical circles.

“Is it so unlikely?” Thomas asks. “Did Achilles not love Patroclus? Alexander not Hephaestion? Hymen not Apollo? 

“We can’t know.” James whispers but even as he says it he believes Thomas entirely. He needs Thomas to tell him to leave, to give up on him. He won’t be able to honour the terms Thomas is going to present and it isn’t fair to let him even ask. He wants, oh God he wants so much it _hurts_. 

Thomas goes to his knees, searching through the pile of books and James follows, unable to stop his body following Thomas’.

“Here.” Thomas says, opening the Iliad at an already bookmarked page and James sees that the pages are covered in tiny pencil notes. ‘“He took up the dust in both hands and poured it over his head… And he lay there with his whole body sprawling in the dust, huge and hugely fallen, tearing at his hair and defiling it.’” Thomas reads. “Antiloclus believes that Achilles will take a knife to his own throat in sorrow and Achilles himself says he has no desire to continue among men until Hector pays the price for Patroclus’ death. Does this seem like the grief of a friend?”

In the face of James’ silence Thomas continues, opening more books as he does, creating a sea around his and James’ kneeling bodies. To an outsider it might seem as if they were offering an odd supplication to the words.

“‘Patroclus, my dearest companion . . . whom I loved as much as my own life’. At his death he commanded that his ashes be mixed with those of Patroclus, binding them together in eternity. If we believe Aristotle, that ‘love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies’, then this, surely, is the pinnacle of such love.”

“They’re just stories.” James scrambles desperately for anything that might quell Thomas just long enough for James to fix his resolve sufficient to leave.

“The bible is full of stories, yet men have gone to war over it plenty enough. If there is even the slightest truth in the moral of the story, in the sentiment, then it is worth listening to. Heavens, even all history becomes mere stories in time, whether it happened or not doesn’t make it any less real.”

“Perhaps.” Every fragment of James’ being wants to forget his fight and let Thomas’ optimism wash over him and bathe him in temporary bliss. Except it wouldn’t be enough to dull the desire inside him now.

“There are a great many notions of Plato’s I am inclined to disagree with, particularly since his principles rest so heavily on the pederasty of the time -” Thomas’ eyes flick to James’ and James lets him think he doesn’t know what pederasty is. “A sexual relationship between men and boys” he clarifies when James coughs. “I do, however, believe there is a seed of truth to his proposal that celestial love, love beyond lust, is greater than all else.”

On the first ship he served on James watched a dying man have his neck sliced by his own captain, a mercy killing to stop infection festering. He’s about to destroy Thomas and pretend it is a compassionate thing to do. How can he possibly be virtuous when even now his body roars with desperate hunger? He turns away because the anger in his eyes isn’t for Thomas.

“Don’t you understand?” Thomas implores.

“No I bloody don’t!” James has never raised his voice to Thomas, never let his violence be known. Thomas has the good grace to flinch slightly.

“Great men, James.” Thomas says as he takes James’ hands between his own, kneeling so close James can feel the warm of his breath on his cheek, can almost taste the slight hint of wine on Thomas’ tongue. It is excruciating. “Powerful, extraordinary men have loved each other with such tenderness. To extend further than the physical and truly know a man’s soul, it has sacked cities, spurned nations and achieved more than even gods could have anticipated. It is magnificent.”

James shatters. When Thomas kisses him with the cry of hope still on his tongue James turns away, a sob caught against his lips. 

“Stop.” He says, standing. “It doesn’t matter.”

“James?” Thomas whispers and when he looks up there are the beginnings of tears resting in his eyes and James’ heart breaks impossibly further. 

“I’ll find you a replacement liaison. You won’t have to see me again. I’m sorry. I won’t - I’d never tell anyone.” As he says this that the possibly happen if this were to become public knowledge flashes through James’ mind. He trusts Thomas, knows he isn’t a vindictive man, but nevertheless the thought turns his blood cold.

Thomas stands, swiftly and it’s only when he puts a hand against James’ chest to stop him that James realises he’s got a hand on the door.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll let you go.” Thomas says.

The words ‘ _I don’t love you’_ sit bitter between James’ lips but Thomas has been nothing but honest and James can’t find his voice to lie to him, knowing he deserves better. Instead he says “I can’t give you what you want. Tomorrow, in a week, a month, every day I’ll keep pushing for more than you can give and it isn’t fair _._ ”

“Pushing?”

James swallows, closes his eyes.

“I am drawn to you. In a manner beyond your goodness. I’m afraid I won’t always be able to ignore it.”

James braces himself against revulsion, perhaps even pity. He does not expect Thomas’ bone crushing embrace and the soft chuckle that grows against his ear. When Thomas continues to laugh, shaking with it slightly, James considers that he might have broken the man. He pulls back, irritated and confused.

“What?”

“Darling.” Thomas smiles, regaining some of his composure. “You appear to have forgotten that I attended Eton.” James furrows his brow pointedly. “My experience suggests that in this particular regard boarding school is not dissimilar to what I’ve heard of life at sea.”

“I’ve never -” James begins and then realises what Thomas has just said. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Thomas repeats and kisses James, who sinks into it willingly.

“Wait. Wait.” James pulls away, breathless, after a moment. “I thought you wanted, everything you said, you were talking about a platonic, non-physical -”

“Oh James. I was trying to tell you that I don’t _just_ want your body. I want your mind, your soul as well. I want it all.”

James can’t stop the tiny keening noise that escapes him at this.

“You’re not concerned about sodomy?”

‘“No reverence hadst thou for the unsullied holiness of thy limbs, oh thou most ungrateful for my many kisses!’” Thomas punctuates his statement with a press of his lips to James’ jaw.

“What?”

“Aeschylus, Myrmidons fragments. Achilles is addressing Patroclus’ body.” Thomas murmurs into James’ skin. ‘“The lovers of what is noble find pleasant the things that are by nature pleasant’. Tell me -” Thomas unthreads the cloth from James’ neck and presses a kiss to the base of his throat, tongue flicking out to taste at a thin layer of sweat. One hand goes to undo the buttons of James’ coat the other tangles in his hair, scraping slightly at his scalp. “Is this pleasant?”

James shudders in response. Thomas makes quick work of James’ jacket and then waistcoat, both hitting the floor with the soft thud of heavy fabric. He runs his palms across James’ chest, rough silk dragging under his touch and when his nail catches against a nipple James stiffens but his eyes flutter briefly shut so Thomas does it again.

“Is this pleasant?” He asks again.

“God. Yes.” James utters.

“And is this -” He takes one of James’ hands, which until now has been fluttering around nape of his neck and brings it downwards, stopping briefly to take the tip of a finger into his mouth. He brings James’ hand to rest on his lower stomach, fingers splayed towards his crotch, almost but not quite touching. “Is this not natural?”

James stares at him, eyes wide with want, the earlier wariness almost entirely faded. The air catches in Thomas’ lungs because he looks debauched already and a little bit wild and it is beautiful. They hang suspended, neither breathing nor moving, a perfect tableau. Then James’ fingers stretch lower and Thomas kisses him and his moan rolls between their mouths. 

“Come upstairs?” He asks and James answers by pushing Thomas’ waistcoat off his shoulders and him towards the door.

 ~ 

Thomas’ bedroom, it seems, is simply an extension of his study. Papers are scattered across the dressing table and spilling onto the floor. A fire still half burning in the grate throws wavering light over complete chaos. It has nothing of the precisely arranged impersonality of Miranda’s rooms that James had found unnerving and uncharacteristic.

“Sorry.” Thomas says, gesturing to stacks of books that stand like stalagmites around room. “I get restless at night sometimes. And the staff know not to touch anything that looks important. Which is most things, I’m afraid.” 

“I’m not sure I should have expected anything else.” James mocks light-heartedly. “The bed’s clear though.” 

“What good fortune.” Thomas says and James grins, wolfish and playful at once, crowding Thomas backwards until his knees are against the edge of the bed and his palms splay out against the sheets for balance. His back arches magnificently. James is so impossibly close he can feel Thomas’ chest rising and falling against his own. He lifts Thomas’ shirt out of his breeches and runs his hands up Thomas’ stomach and then ribcage, marvelling at the softness of his skin. 

“Thomas.” He whispers.

“James.”

“What do you -” James starts but isn’t sure how to finish the question. 

“Here.” Thomas sits back onto the bed and takes James’ hands, continuing their journey upwards to guide his shirt over his head. He sets them to rest against the back of his neck while he repeats the action on James’ torso, fingers feeling out the crest of each muscle on his way up. Thomas is all soft curves and delicate bones and James isn’t sure he’s even seen someone’s skin so unstained, with the exception of a small birthmark the shape of spilt ink just under his shoulder. James leans forward and licks it.

Years of hard labour have made James, who was always a lanky child, full of awkward angles and hard muscle in all kinds of unusual places. He’s still carrying the last of a tropical sun, despite having been on land for the best part of a year now, and he can feel Thomas’ fingers discovering the multitude of freckles that live among the light hairs on his chest.

“When Miranda told me about these I was sure she was exaggerating. I owe her an apology.”

James isn’t sure how to respond so he joins Thomas on the bed, swallows the trickle of embarrassment and anxiety and says the words that have been on his mind since the first morning he met Thomas.

“You’re completely beautiful.”

“Thank you.” James isn’t sure, in the firelight, if Thomas blushes. “Although I am considering joining the navy if this is the result of it.” He says, still exploring James’ chest as if he were a child fascinated with a new toy. As James kisses him, Thomas’ study continues, mapping every point on James’ torso until, finally, he is fiddling with the buttons on James’ breeches and encouraging James to stand up and allow him to slide them off.

James has never been shy about his body, not through vanity but the pure necessity that comes with living in close quarters with a lot of other men who have no time for modesty. Standing nude under Thomas’ still gaze, though, he is for the first time aware of every part of his limbs and shivers, inexplicably, at the rawness of the feeling.

“God. James.” Thomas says and curls his hands around James’ thighs while pressing a kiss to his hipbone. James wonders how it is possible to be so aroused by this alone. After a moment Thomas takes a hand off his thigh but before James can be disappointed by the loss of contact it is hovering excruciatingly close to his cock instead.

“May I?” Thomas asks.

“Please.” James isn’t surprised how much it sounds as if he is begging.

Thomas’ hand is warm and firm and it takes all of James’ willpower not to move in his touch. Then, once he’s sure James it watching, Thomas kisses the tip of his cock and James can’t help but jolt at the sensation, arousal sweeping through him and his hips canting forwards.

“Is this alright?” Thomas asks.

“More than.” James says, resisting the ridiculous urge to pat Thomas’ head in fondness for asking such an obvious question. “Can I -  I want to -”

Thomas catches the drift of his questioning and quickly removes his own breeches.

“You want?” He inquires but the mirth in his eyes shows James he already knows the answer so he just smirks back at him and pulls them both back onto the bed. The press of their bodies together, every inch of skin flush against the other’s, is hot and heady in the same way too much wine is.

James takes his time to return Thomas’ inquisition, only this time using his mouth to inspect every aspect of Thomas’ body. Before long Thomas is arching under his touch, short impatient gasps filling the room. When James experimentally draws a nipple into his mouth and treats it as he would a woman’s, pressing his tongue against it before lightly running his teeth over it, Thomas’ gasps turn into a low, loud moan. So James does it again, to the other nipple.

Inevitably, though, James’ lips eventually reach the point at which he is far less certain of himself. When he pauses at Thomas’ navel and casts a brief look down Thomas sits up, puts two fingers under James’ chin and brings him up until they are eye level. 

“Would you like me to show you?”

The back of James’ mind thinks he should be offended by the question, or perhaps embarrassed. But Thomas sounds like he wants nothing more in the world than to show him and James is nothing but gratuitous. He nods and Thomas spreads James’ legs and settles readily between them, holding James’ hips with both hands.

The heat of Thomas’ mouth alone is enough for James to rock forward involuntarily, but the press of Thomas’ thumbs into his upper thighs is firm and steady as Thomas takes him further into his mouth. Thomas honours his word and takes it slow enough for James to catalogue every movement, often repeating the smallest and gentlest of actions which James assumes is for the purpose of teaching but quickly feels like Thomas is simply teasing him.

When James thinks he can’t possibly last another minute Thomas gently pulls away, wrapping a hand around him instead. James pushes into his hand a groan of arousal turning into one of frustration. Thomas chuckles and kisses him. The taste of himself on Thomas’ tongue is as unusual as it is intoxicating.

“Would you like to try something else?” Thomas asks. James has half a mind to say no, to tell Thomas to lie back down and finish what he started but curiosity gets the better of him. 

“Only if you’re as good at it as that.” He doesn’t remember making much noise but his hoarse voice seems to suggest otherwise.

“Oh?” Thomas raises an eyebrow and kisses him again while reaching across to a draw beside the bed, knocking over a stack of books as he does so. The moment James sees the small bottle of oil he understands exactly what is going to happen and he can’t help the slight panic that grasps at his chest.  “I take it you’ve never -” Thomas stops himself and presses his lips together for a moment as if making a decision. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

James has heard Thomas swear before, remembers how shocked he was the first time until it quickly became evident that Thomas could rival any sailor’s tongue once he was irritated about something. There is something so entirely erotic about it in this context, though, that James can’t help but moan hearing it. Then the reality of Thomas’ words sinks in and disappointment sets in where the panic had been a moment ago. It must show on his face because Thomas quickly remedies his statement.

“Not tonight, at least.” His following grin is a mix of playful boyishness and absolute filth.

Instead, he drips a generous amount of oil onto his fingers while pulling James into kiss which is more just a meeting of open, wanting mouths. James follows the curve of Thomas’ arm with his own and confirms what is happening. Any remaining panic dispels immediately; he is back on familiar ground; this he does at least have some experience with. 

“I don’t have anything.” Thomas says suddenly. “Miranda and I are always very careful about that kind of thing in our -” he pauses, and James wonders if there is a touch of embarrassment in it. “- indiscretions.”  James realises that not even in his time with Miranda did he think to ask about anything beyond the possibility of pregnancy.

“I never thought about it.” James knows it was probably reckless to presume Miranda and Thomas were above that kind of disease, he’s seen what it’s done to men on his ship, but there’s a certain purity about them that suggests natural immunity. He wonders if Thomas is saying this because he’s concerned about him. “I haven’t either.” He tries not to sound offended. 

“I didn’t mean -” Thomas starts, apologetic, but James cuts him off.

“I know.” And he does.

He finds Thomas’ index finger, which is already inserted to the knuckle. Absently he wonders how Thomas managed to hold a conversation while he was doing that. He gathers some of the oil which is dripping down Thomas’ other fingers onto his own.

“Let me.”

“Join me.” Thomas counters. So James does, waiting a moment until Thomas nods and then carefully sliding his finger in next to Thomas’. It takes a moment, while the method is not unlike that James has experienced with women the practicality is a rather different. Thomas is tighter and drier than James is used to and it takes more oil before he can move his finger and even more before he can add another, following Thomas’ lead and pressing his fingers gently outwards, stretching him open. Thomas lifts his head off James’ shoulder and smiles beatifically.

With his spare hand he finds James’ cock again, oil mixing with the wetness leaking from its tip as he begins to stroke.

“Would you -” Thomas begins to say, just as James curls a finger inside him and touches something that makes Thomas shudder full bodily, moaning in a way James has never heard before. “In me. Please.” He pants out.

James is only too happy to acquiesce, biting down on Thomas’ shoulder to smoother a moan of his own as he rearranges them both.

“Like this?” He asks.

“Yes.” Thomas sighs, giving James’ cock a final stroke before letting him push slowly into him. James stops half way to acclimatise, it’s so tight and wonderful and new that it’s almost too much.

“Keep going.” Thomas says after a moment and threads a hand into James’ hair, the other resting on his back, urging him on. By the time James sinks in entirely the sounds falling out of Thomas’ mouth almost match his own. He attempts a shallow thrust and then, when Thomas’ hand tightens in his hair, another.

“How does it feel?”

“Like nothing else.”

“Tell me.”

Thomas does and it’s as if James can feel the same pressure, the same heat, inside him. It’s exquisite, he almost regrets that it won’t happen tonight. “I’ll have to try it.”

“Soon.” Thomas groans and it sounds like a promise.

It doesn’t take much more before the edges of James’ vision cloud and he is barely aware of anything but the feel of Thomas and the sound of their bodies moving together.

“I’m -” He starts, attempting to pull out but Thomas’ hand presses him back, keeping him lodged tight against him.

“Stay.” Thomas says, kissing him and with one final half thrust James’ stomach twists and the world turns white.

When his awareness returns Thomas has moved away slightly from him and is watching rapt, a few fingers around his cock but barely moving. Through the clouding exhaustion, James makes a snap decision and, before Thomas can realise what’s happening, puts his mouth around him. Thomas, in shock, pitches up slightly to meet him. James thinks he tries to say sorry but it comes out as a garbled moan when James flicks his tongue over his tip. 

Thomas pulls away quickly but not quite fast enough and James feels hot liquid against his tongue. He scrapes it off with his teeth instinctively. Then he licks a small amount off Thomas’ stomach while he watches fascinated. He swallows thoughtfully. After a moment he stands on only slightly shaky legs. 

“Bathroom?” He asks, pointing at one of two doors leading off Thomas’ room. 

“Other one.”

When he returns with a damp cloth Thomas smiles. “I’m told it’s an acquired taste. I’ve never particularly minded either way.”

“It wasn’t terrible.” James lies.

“I’m glad you think so highly of my abilities.” Thomas jokes and James swats him with the cloth. 

“You were magnificent and you know it.” He wipes lightly at Thomas’ stomach which even now tenses a little at his touch. “Turn over.”

“You enjoyed it then?” There’s a drop of sincerity colouring Thomas’ teasing tone and James presses a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“Very much.” He says softly. Once both he and Thomas are clean he discards the cloth to the floor and lies down next to him, pressing his forehead into the short hairs at the nape of Thomas’ neck. Other than the fingers playing slowly with his, he would have believed Thomas were asleep.

“Oh!” Thomas stirs suddenly, turning to face him. “I forgot to finish my argument.” 

“What?”

“Thus the act is noble.”

It takes James a moment to drag into recollection what Thomas is talking about.  “You do realise that quote is unbelievably ambiguous don’t you?”

Thomas laughs gently. “Aristotle did once say that his lectures are ‘intelligible to those who heard them, and none beside’. In any case, it served its purpose didn’t it?” 

“Mm. I suppose it did.” James smiles into Thomas’ chest, his pale flesh like liquid marble in the first splashes of dawn that creep around the curtains. A purplish bruise is blooming under Thomas’ nipple and James pokes it inquisitively. Thomas squirms and sucks in a startled breath. “Sorry.” James smirks.

“Are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

They lapse into a warm quite again and James begins to drift towards sleep, waves of unconsciousness pulling around him even as he fights to keep focused on the feeling of Thomas’ fingers trailing over his spine.

“Did you know that -” Thomas begins and James groans softly. “No, no listen. Did you know that in a letter Diogenes once wrote that Alexander was ruled only by Hephaestion’s thighs?”

“I’m not sure it was meant as a compliment.” James says, wondering how on earth he’s still fighting this side of the debate.

“True.” Thomas murmurs, kissing James’ shoulder. “I suppose some might suggest a king should be influenced by more than one man’s thighs.” 

“You don’t think that?”

“Perhaps it depends how virtuous that man and his thighs were.”

James laughs and pulls Thomas’ leg over his own. 

“The best, I’d imagine.”

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: It's been a fair while since I studied classics and I'd like to apologise to anyone who knows these texts better than me. 
> 
> I've been fairly liberal in cherry picking the things I wanted to use for Thomas' argument and how I wanted to interpret them so please don't take my musings to be academic... BUT I'll put my sources in the comments if anyone wants to know more.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as ceraunos pls say hi.


End file.
